


Clasp

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard’s not sure who’s more appalling: Alfrid or himself for wanting this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clasp

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He goes to Alfrid’s house because that’s where all the money is, and he couldn’t bear it if one of his kids walked in. He strips off his coat, tunic, and trousers, but leaves the binder and gloves— _some_ kind of barrier—and lies down on the middle of the beaten mattress. Alfrid bears down on him with as little preparation as usual, not intentionally cruel; it’s just that Alfrid clearly has no idea what he’s doing, but it doesn’t really matter. Bard’s already shamefully wet and loose for this ugly little man in sore need of a razor. Alfrid thrusts inside, almost missing. Bard reaches down to help guide it in and shuts his eyes against the slow side of a thick, warm cock, just as hard as he is wet. 

Alfrid’s always hard for him. Alfrid’s _obsessed_ with him, and he knows that, and maybe that’s part of why he _likes_ this; he might as well be the center of Alfrid’s whole world. Alfrid pays him full attention, looks at him with eyes so dilated in lust they’re almost all black, picturing no one but him. The other part might be that Alfrid’s dick, for all its missing skill, is long and fat, and Bard enjoys the size more than he pretends to. 

He grits his teeth and doesn’t smile, doesn’t say anything nice, tries not to look at Alfrid when he can. It’s cruel, in a way, but Alfrid is cruel to him back, so the guilt for it’s fairly small, at least compared to all Bard’s other shame—being _here_ , liking _this_ , coming back every time. He lets Alfrid inside him without any protection, and even though he’s getting older and doesn’t know if he can anymore, a part of him _wants_ Alfrid to put another child in him. He loves the three he has, but he could love a fourth. Alfrid would take care of it; he’d even _love_ Bard’s child, though it sometimes seems he’s incapable of such a sentiment. And he’s the only man short of the Master that has any money to help. He’d give that support. He pays Bard now, and Bard pretends he’s here for money to raise his children, when really the sharp, staccato thrusts of Alfrid’s big dick make him hot and heady and he _needs that release_ —sometimes it seems like the only pleasant thing in this wretched town is getting stuffed full of a devoted cock. 

It takes Alfrid a little while to get his bearing. The first few thrusts always make him dizzy, consume him, and he’s like a dog with a bone, humping Bard without any control. Eventually, he falls into the rhythm, and he can move his hands to paw at Bard’s sweaty body while his trousers scratch Bard’s naked thighs, spread around Alfrid’s lap. Alfrid keeps all his clothes on—it probably gives him a power trip, and it lets Bard pretend they aren’t lovers. Alfrid runs his greasy palms up Bard’s flat stomach and over his chest, fingers curling into the white ties. Husky, he rasps, sniveling and half demanding, “Take this off.” He pushes at Bard’s chest through the binder, and the tightness makes Bard’s breath hitch. He slaps Alfrid’s hands away. 

He growls, “No,” and Alfrid sneers. 

“Is that why you’re with me?” he hisses, like there isn’t a bag of coins on the nightstand. He puts more weight behind his thrusts, until his cock is stabbing almost violently into Bard’s body, which Bard grits his teeth for—another pleasure he won’t admit. He doesn’t mind it _rough_. Alfrid leans down over him, one hand to either side of his shoulders, dwarfing him in a dark shadow with beady black eyes. “Because I’m the only one that won’t rat out your secret?”

Bard just grunts, “Shut up.” A part of him likes the sound of Alfrid’s slick voice, but another part knows most of what he says is vile. He has no grace, no charm. He’s sweating hard beneath his rumpled tunic and trousers, hat retired so just his matted hair tumbles over his shoulders, almost brushing Bard’s forehead. 

“Isn’t that hot?” Alfrid coos, and he sounds like he believes it. A look of pure _bliss_ crosses his face, and he ducks his head, though Bard turns away, the kiss landing on his cheek. Alfrid opens his mouth wide, breath curling around Bard’s skin. Alfrid mouths at him, messy and with a scrape of teeth, panting with _lust_ oozing out of every pore, “That we have this forbidden secret. Just between us. I’m the only one that knows about your juicy cunt...”

It takes Bard a second to control himself. He can hear every one of Alfrid’s laboured breaths against his ear. He makes himself hiss, “It’s not hot, and if you say it again you’ll be out on your ass.” 

He couldn’t, really. It’s Alfrid’s house. But Alfrid shuts up anyway, like he always does when Bard threatens to leave. He’s too pathetic a man to tempt Bard back on his own, and they both know this is _all he’s ever wanted._ He snakes his hands under Bard’s body, collapsing on top of Bard and holding Bard tight, surprisingly fierce for how little muscles his arms have. Bard’s not sure he could push Alfrid off. He doesn’t really want to. He lets Alfrid clutch at him and fuck him hard, until that final, jagged push shoves Bard over the edge, and he comes with a cry to drown out all the slapping sounds. He means to shove his hand against his mouth, but Alfrid gets there first, taking advantage of his open mouth to shove a tongue inside. Bard’s too busy with pleasure to fight it, and he lets Alfrid hungrily kiss him, borderline devour him, slobber all over his walls and suck on his tongue and nip at his lips. Alfrid doesn’t stop until Bard shoves his shoulder back, and then it’s Alfrid’s turn to _scream_. He buries his face in Bard’s shoulder and pours himself into Bard’s trembling body. He spills a heavy load, always does. He always tries to fill Bard up like they have to repopulate the town. Even when Bard’s slowly coming down, he doesn’t find the feeling of Alfrid’s seed trickling out around his lips as disgusting as he thinks he should. 

He pushes Alfrid out of him, anyway, and Alfrid lifts only his hips, then collapses back, still hugging Bard’s chest. He’s bizarrely clingy, like he’s terrified Bard will leave him, and in a little while, Bard will. 

For now, he just lies there, vaguely sick with himself for how much he likes petting Alfrid’s greasy hair and feeling Alfrid’s weight on his body. 

Broken, Alfrid murmurs, “Stay?”

And Bard wonders if today will be the day he breaks down, too.


End file.
